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Paranoia
In July, the sun mocks me—burning bright,
yet I shiver in corners, wrapped in fright.
The air is warm, the world is gold,
but something ancient, cold, takes hold.
A voice from the mirror whispers my name,
the walls are breathing, they play a game.
Shadows crawl like thoughts I hide,
my mother’s eyes in the ceiling slide.
I light a candle—no warmth, no glow,
just flickers of memories I’d rather not know.
Did I lock the door, or was that a dream?
The teacup laughed. The faucet screamed.
A child cries in my spine each night,
clutching Oedipus too tight.
Paranoia, hallucination, the soul's disguise—
I freeze beneath a summer sky,
and truth, like ice, lives behind the eyes.
Copyright ©
James Mclain
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